The Archangel Files free porn video

Permission is given to do whatever you want with this story, I'm not picky. Fair warning before reading, when I write stories I'm a writer, and a bad one at that. I am not a businessman, lawyer, doctor, theologian or hair care expert. Though I do have a working knowledge of many of these fields, I am an amateur not a professional. So, there is probably a whole bunch of factual errors in this piece. I did what research I could, but the primary goal was to tell a story, not write a dissertation. In addition it has been many, many years since I took an English class and my grammar, as many of you have noticed before, is politely described as eccentric. I did the best editing I could and I'm getting better. You wouldn't want to see my first stuff, but there are still many errors below. I will practice, practice practice and hopefully become a better writer, in the meantime bear with me. If any of you would like to volunteer your efforts as an editor or recommend a book on writing I can purchase to help me, please post it on a review of this story. And last, this story takes on some religious issues. Please don't feel I'm being self-righteous and shoving my idea of Christianity down upon you. I tried leaving the universe open to every possibility so there's room enough for us all to get along. Also, I make light of some sacred and hallowed institutions, so please don't take offence. As the great Kevin Smith has said: "Even God has a sense of humour -- just look at the duck billed platypus." If this offends you easily or stories with a TG element in it do as well, you should probably leave now, though why your even here I don't understand. Anyway, on with the story The Archangel Files By The Last Boy Scout Things were pretty bad for Michael Lane. He was a 21-year- old college dropout. The circumstances leading up to his departure from higher education were complicated and tragic. Mike was a good old boy from a good old family. If the United States had a landed aristocracy, the Lanes would rate a duchy at the very least. As it is, they had congressmen in their pockets and senators waiting for permission to breathe. The Lanes were at the pinnacle of the finest civilization history had ever produced. No enemy had ever come close to vanquishing them from their pedestal since old man Lane had walked off of the boat in 1833. No enemy that is, except themselves. When such an empire reaches such power it become much more than one man can manage. Old man Lane, surviving a civil war in his adoptive country, had semi-retired and left the managing of his company to his three sons, but his three sons were not their father. They became envious and paranoid about what their brothers were doing and less then a year after turning over power old man Lane was forced to return to sort out his sons. Wealth like this, he surmised, could never be shared and he put forth an unbreakable family law that only the eldest may inherit, and he shall reign supreme. Brother went against brother in combat more vicious than the civil war, which had made the family fortune. Rather than present such an opportunity in the future, Thomas Lane, the last surviving heir, made sure that he had but *one* son. When his wife presented him with a second, he ordered the baby sent away to an orphanage; denying it was his. He would see no more heirs fighting for control. Such was the force of personality of Thomas Lane that he imprinted his own ideas onto his son who did the same for his. This continued downward through time until the present when Mike's father, John Lane, had married and taken control of Lane Incorporated. It was now the 21st century and, of course, one man did not manage Lane Incorporated alone. Executive vice presidents and regional directors all managed divisions and subgroups of the 35 Billion dollar private company. But no matter how mundane, in the end the Chief Executive Officer, President and Chairman of the Board made all the final decisions. Lane reigned supreme more than any absolute monarch of earlier eras. You see, in the end they were accountable to the people who would rise up in rebellion if angered enough -- but a Lane was accountable to no one. The trouble was, John lane was an old man. He had married late and fathered late. While 65 might be a vigorous enough age for a healthy man in 2002, it was an age when a man looks to the golden years of his life. John Lane wanted to retire but he felt his son was not ready. Not goddamned ready one little bit. John Lane was cursed by his own traditions. In other dynasties, there was always a second in line to the throne. However, after five generations of only one child, there were no brothers or sisters, nor cousins or second cousins. No one to assume the mantle of one of the largest private fortunes on earth but a 21 year old kid freezing to death on Interstate 80. Mike had gone to Harvard for about a minute, then Yale, Dartmouth and then steadily down the list until ending up at Creighton University. It wasn't a carefully thought out decision to attend there -- he simply wanted a place as far away from his clinging responsibilities as he could manage. It wasn't that he wasn't intelligent, far from it. Lanes always tested high on the IQ exam. It was rather a question of motivation. Pass or fail, sink or swim, Mike had always known what his destiny would be. He could become the greatest biochemist on earth and not spend one day in a lab because the family business needed be run. He could have the athletic ability to rival Michael Jordan or Joe Montana and not play one game. What man would try and tackle the heir who could buy and sell you, your parents, your parent's friends and an armoured division just for fun. ?Friends' were forthcoming, of course, but none wanted to meet Mike. They wanted to get in the good graces of Michael Elmer Lane, Executive Vice President at 18 of Lane Incorporated. Whenever he arrived at a new school he had maybe a week until they came out of the woodwork, tipped off by the society pages. Those few people he had met before the news spread usually got shifted to the side in a stampede. There had been girls after him -- lots of girls -- by the time he was 19. He learned how to hide his mail and e-mail address after he had received 1,115 marriage proposals. Some of them were from women he had never met and even several from men he had never met. He had "dated" by dressing up in a tuxedo and accompanying whichever prissy muffin his mother or father had decided he should take to whichever charity event his attendance was required at. None of these outings had resulted in a second. While it was some men's fantasy, it wasn't his. Some of these girls would do anything for the Lane heir. Mike knew he wasn't going to find true love one time when he jokingly ordered a girl to bark like a dog and she actually did it. Mike had never taken a girl out to a movie or to some cheap pizza place. He'd never necked in the back of a car. It was hard to do that with a five-man security detail that would rival some heads of state. One time when Mike did a tour Stanford University, he had almost witnessed a full-fledged gunfight as his own detail "bumped" into the one guarding the daughter of the President. The excitement would have amused Mike more if the secret service agents hadn't been so quick to apologise -- almost getting on their hands and knees at the thought of offending ?The Heir'. Even at Creighton, the situation had gotten so bad that Mike had packed up what he could, given his ?friend' a check for $20,000 and then driven his car westward; trying to get away from school, well-wishers and his very own praetorian guard. Mike didn't even know where he was going. His only plan was to stop whenever he hit the mountains and go on from there. The specific incident that had set off his flight had been the University President's smarmy offer to completely ignore the sexual complaints filed against Mike and his fraternity resulting from a party over the weekend. Mike hadn't even been to that party and as far as he knew nothing improper happened. Of course, that was of secondary importance to the University President who needed a new sports center. Mike told the President to go perform a certain anatomically impossible act upon himself, then sicked his father's lawyers on him and the University. If the wolves left him with his retirement plan, he would be very surprised. The trouble was, it was now winter and he hadn't checked any weather advisories before leaving. Never having driven himself longer than it took to get the license in the first place and hardly ever being on his own, Mike could understandably be forgiven his error in judgement thinking the ?few flurries' would go away soon. Only they didn't. Over the last hour, the few flurries had become a snowstorm, and with the wind picking up, a full-fledged blizzard. Not being completely stupid, Mike slowed the car down until he was barely going 15 mph and decided to pull over at the next town. The trouble was, going 15 mph and not being able to see 15 feet in front of him, the next town was becoming difficult to find. Panicking, he increased speed, hoping to get to safely that much quicker. What it did do was send him into oblivion that much sooner. The tires of his Toyota spun out and the car, after doing a complete 360, crashed off the road and into a snow embankment. "Why the hell couldn't Nick have had a truck or an SUV like any self-respecting teenager?" Mike said, angered at his own stupidity. Mike was a 6'2", 200-pound dark-haired young man who, even if he didn't have all his father's money coming to him, could still attract a few backward glances from the female portion of the species. However, he knew that his good looks would quickly be spoiled by decomposition unless he found a way to survive this. The engine was still running, but no matter how much gas Mike applied, the car wouldn't move. Backing up the hill in reverse and trying to go forward was equally pointless. Mike hadn't had much real life experience at much of anything. No matter how much he despised his constant supervision, they made sure that he didn't want for or have to do anything. He had read extensively, though, and he knew that if he stayed in the car he would suffocate, succumb to fumes or even more mundane -- simply freeze to death. There was still some traffic on the highway. Not much, but he might catch a passing car -- only if they could see him that is. Empting out his suitcase, Mike put on first one and then two additional layers of clothes, trying to bundle up as best as possible against the cold environment outside. After a quick examination of the car and the trunk, he didn't find anything helpful like a flare or a survival kit. A college student seldom needed one, thought Mike. He climbed up the hill into the freezing winter wind and made it up to a level surface he deduced was the road. Looking as far as he could in either direction, he could see no light of a city or a passing car. He didn't see anything but the endless whiteness and the markers by the side of the road. Deciding that walking would at least keep him warm, Mike headed along the Interstate in the opposite direction he was originally travelling. He didn't know what was ahead but he knew that he had passed a town a few miles back. Cursing life in general and himself in particular, Michael Elmer Lane began walking through the wilderness. --- "Its one of yours boss," said Gabriel as he looked down from his vantage point in Heaven. "Christ!" said the Archangel Michael as he took the viewing disk from his associate. "Yes?" came a questioning voice. "Not you kid, sorry to bother you." Said Michael, chagrined. "Its all right Mickey, it happens all the time. Are we still on for the poker game?" "You bet, but no more quilting me out of giving all my winnings away. We play for markers this time." "I am understandably reluctant about matchsticks" "We'll figure something out. See you around." "He's a good kid," said Gabriel as he turned to his friend "Yea," said Michael as he turned back to viewing. "But this one sure isn't." "Oh, I don't know, he's never done anything really wrong. I have his file right here. In comparison to some of my cases, we should nominate him for sainthood. "But he hasn't really done anything right, either. He was given everything, leaving aside his Boss given talents. He's got all that power and money and he hasn't used it for anything more noble than a big party for his friends." "Spreading happiness is a noble goal." "But that's all he has to show for his life -- a few keggers. How's he supposed to face Pete with just that in his r?sum??" "You're talking yourself up to something boss." "How did we get roped into doing this, Gabe? There was a time when you and I reigned down fire and brimstone, led all the angels of Heaven and fought all the armies of Hell. How do we rate when it comes down to it? Glorified guardian angels?" "It's one of the Big Boss's pet projects, you know that." "The whole human race is one of his pet projects, and one that isn't exactly panning out if you ask me." "I don't know Mickey, these new guys, the Romans, they really know how to have a good time. I know Pete doesn't care for ?em much because of how he arrived here, but I kind of like them." "You need to get out more, Gabe," said Michael smirking. "Probably true. You want me to handle this one then?" "No, I've got it. I have something extra special planed for this disgrace to my name." "Just try to keep your temper. The last time you were in that part of the world, the geography got rearranged." "Hey, the Grand Canyon is a natural wonder of the world." --- Mike Lane was starting to get the idea that maybe getting out of the car was a bad idea. No car had passed him since he started. Apparently every other resident of the state of Nebraska was smarter then him and were staying off the roads. Mike had no idea how far he had gone or how far he had yet to stumble through the snow. The town he thought was a few miles back might as well have been on the moon. Mike knew that unless someone stumbled upon him he would likely die out there. He was about to give up hope and try to head back for what little shelter the car offered when he began to see a gathering of lights in the distance. The snowstorm was scattering the light all over the horizon, but ahead there was something making the light. Perhaps not the town, perhaps only a farm. Regardless, Mike didn't see any other option and he started stumbling toward the lights. Time didn't really have meaning; if it was measured at all it was in paces an entire lifetime in a step. So cold... just a few more steps, one at a time. The lights were getting closer; Mike could begin to distinguish buildings. Cold... a few more steps. But those few more steps were not forthcoming. Mike stumbled onto the snow, and already protesting muscles would follow orders no longer. With one last heave of will, he struggled to get up but he could only go a few more feet before frozen limbs admitted defeat. Mike could see the town ahead and tried to scream for help, but the best he could manage was a weak wail that could not have been audible ten feet away. I'm going to die, Mike thought to himself. The realization didn't seem to bother him; since he stopped moving he had actually started to feel a very comfortable warmth spread through his body. Mike knew enough to know this was not a welcome warmness, but a final stage of hypothermia. "I'm sorry Daddy," Mike said before closing his eyes and welcoming whatever was coming for him. --- "Come on, wake up," said Archangel Michael as he slapped Mike Lane hard across the face. "I've got a nice pancake breakfast ready for you." No response "I've got three blond co-eds just waiting to get in your shorts." Michael was perplexed. "Oh come on, no ones *that* dead," said an exasperated Michael as he looked up. "Kid, a little help here please?" Mike Lane jolted up from his deceased slumber with a gasp. "Thanks kid, I've been out of practice." This was not Mike's idea of the afterlife, so he could be forgiven for not understanding the situation he was in. He looked around and saw a simple 12 by 12 room with a single bed, TV and drawn curtains. A simple, spartan hotel room that he had seen on television a thousand times before but never stayed in. "Who the hell are you?" asked Mike when he saw the middle aged blond man in a three-piece business suit. "I'll thank you, sir, not to use that word in my presence. To answer your question, my name is Michael," said the Archangel. "Well Michael, my name's Mike," said Mike Lane, trying to make sense of the situation. "Nice to meet you, Mike." "Same here, Mike. How did I get here, Mike?" "Well Mike, you're recently deceased and I needed a place to sort you out. The side of the road just didn't seem comfortable for the proceedings." "I...see, well, actually I don't see, but I wouldn't want to be impolite." "My thanks. How are you feeling?" "Actually, I can't really feel anything at all. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. Somehow I have the feeling that I should be feeling something about my supposed death, but the feelings aren't forthcoming. Does that make sense?" "Actually, it does. You learn to accept anything after a few assignments. You roll with the punches in my job." "Which is?" "Archangel, or perhaps I should say *The* Archangel. I usually don't rotate back to the world for grunt work like this, but the Boss wanted it done" "The...Boss?" "He doesn't like being called, that... other word. Thinks its clich?d. Bit of an eccentric, really." "Well, if anyone's entitled..." "I'm glad you agree." "The last thing that I remember was walking through a blizzard. Am I to assume, then, that I didn't make it?" "One may assume that, yes," replied the Archangel amused. "What now?" asked Mike confused. "Well, that's the question isn't it? Some of my more sporting associates are taking bets on what I'll choose. You'd be amazed on what you can wager on after a few eons. Hey Gabe," said the archangel shouting upwards. "How's the bookmaking going?" "Even money you drop him into a third-world country or you give him exactly what he's been praying for -- that's always a favourite," said a disjointed voice from heaven. "What about the third option?" "Come on, boss. Not even you're that vindictive." "No, I suppose not," replied Michael as he turned back to Lane "Third world country?" Mike Lane asked. "You've seen the movie, I'm sure. Spoiled little rich kid is shown how the other half lives by a mystical switch and learns a valuable life lesson about what's he's taken for granted and could have done to make the world a better place... yadda, yadda, yadda. Not one of my favourites. Nature abhors a vacuum. He likes an orderly office. As soon as we send some brat to Bolivia, another rises in his place. No, I like to keep them in their present situation and teach them a lesson -- in sitiu." "The third option?" Mike asked with some concern. "Don't even bring that up -- I was just joking. No, I'm talking about giving you exactly what you have prayed for." "Would you please elaborate? I don't recall sending any prayers up to heaven." "Nothing quite so direct, no, but you have been wishing for happiness, haven't you? More importantly, a way to make something of yourself that your father can be proud of. What was it you said? Oh yes..." "I'm sorry daddy" Mike's voice was perfectly reproduced inside the hotel room "Did I actually say Daddy?" "Yea." "Well, shattering as that is to my masculine ego, how did you plan on making me happy?" "Funny you should mention your masculine ego, ?cause that's what I'm going to remove." "My ego?" "Your masculinity." "I'd rather you not," Mike replied suddenly concerned. "I'm afraid you haven't got much of a choice, Mike. You've made a hash out of your life as a male, so we are going to switch things up a bit to see how you handle it from the other side. Don't think a set of XX chromosomes will solve all your ills, either. In most cases, it's a much more difficult life but you were stuck in a rut with no idea how to get out of it. This will force you to make a change in your life and use some of those Boss-given talents that you've wasted for the last 21 years." "A near death experience isn't shaking things up enough?" "No, I'm afraid it isn't. You wouldn't believe some of the recidivism we get. We kill a guy, have a nice long talk with him, tell him to shape up and sure enough he's on the strait and narrow for a while. Soon enough, he thinks it was all some dream, that there isn't really a Heaven, Hell or New Jersey and he didn't have to be good anymore. Changing you into a woman will be a fairly prevalent reminder that this wasn't some dream." "New Jersey?" "We had to put purgatory somewhere and all the good real estate in New York was too expensive." "I can get a you a good deal on a few thousand acres in Westchester "Really?" "Yea, but I suppose you already broke ground in the Garden State." "Yes we have, but I'll make sure to keep you guys in mind the next time a project comes up." "We always appreciate new clients." "Growth rates are not something my outfit worries to much about, sooner or later we get everyone's business." "What about the competition? I would think they're eating into your market share." "Not so you would notice. Sure, they have good years and bad, but its pretty much stabilised these days." "Good to hear. I'm not sure I would like it if the ?competition' got a monopoly." "Neither would I. Well Mike, it's been fun but I gotta run. The Cubs are about to sign a truly phenomenal pitcher and I want to make sure things go as planned." "It will be nice to see them win a series" "Win? Ha! Not while I'm around. That pitcher's going to the Yankees. The boss sent a memo down about the Cubs and he doesn't like to be disappointed. Now, lie still ?cause this is gonna hurt." "Wait!" "What?" asked the Archangel annoyed "Can't I at least say goodbye to Captain Winky?" "Oh, if you must." "In private, please." "Mike, I helped design that piece of anatomy." "I would rather you turned around, please." "Fine. Thirty seconds, then we gotta do this thing" "Thank you," said Mike gratefully. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?!" yelled the Archangel as Mike ran out of the room. Mike Lane got about ten feet before he was grabbed by an invisible force and carried back into the room. He didn't really think he could get away from the Lord's chosen champion, but he had to try. "Cute," said the Archangel, annoyed. "Just for that little stunt, I'm going to make sure you're much more so now." "Isn't there any other option? Can't I just give away a bunch of money?" Mike asked, grasping for any reprieve. "It doesn't work that way. Contrary to what certain organised religions claim, your money isn't the solution to all the problems in the world. You can't insure your soul. Just remember what I said. Shape up because, I'll be watching you. Now, salute the Captain and get ready. I gotta be at Wrigley." Mike was awakened by a hard knock on his Hotel room's door. His mind was fuzzy and he was certain his memories of last night had to be a dream. That belief lasted about 1.5 seconds. Just enough time for him to turn his head and realise that he wasn't a he anymore at all. What the hell... Mike thought when he saw long strands of brunette hair. Knock! Knock! "Ma'am, I have your breakfast" came a Spanish accented voice from the door. After waking up a female, waking up to find out that he had room service was no great surprise. Still in shock, Mike got out of bed and began walking towards the door. The shoulder length hair kept swishing, his rearranged hips and legs made his walk anything but graceful and the lack of anything between those waddling legs was shoved into his mind with every step he took. Eventually, Mike reached the door and took stock of his appearance. With two prominent protrusions, Mike felt a concrete wall wouldn't have been protection enough for decent attire but he supposed the nightdress would have to do. "Yes," said Mike in a soprano voice as he opened the door. "Your room service, breakfast Ma'am." "I'm afraid I didn't order any and couldn't pay for it anyway, I'm sorry," said Mike, suddenly aware that he left his wallet in his other body. "Yes ma'am, but its been paid for by Mister Angelo before he checked out, along with your room for the day. He even left a rather large tip. I wish we had more guests like him. It must be nice to have an expense account like that. If you'll just sign here, Ma'am, I'll set it up on the table; or would you prefer breakfast in bed?" "The table is fine, thank you," said Mike as he released the chain, opened the door and took the ticket. "It's a beautiful day, Ma'am. The snowstorm left everything white. We didn't have many guests last night because of the storm, so I think I'll take my kids to the hill for sledding later today. I never sledded in Bolivia" "Where did you say?" Mike asked. "Bolivia. I immigrated about 15 years ago." "Was it nice there?" Mike asked out of curiosity "It could have been," he answered sadly, "But we were so far behind everyone else, we just couldn't catch up." "I'm sorry," Mike replied, suddenly feeling guilty "Why should you feel sorry, Ma'am? You didn't do anything. Now, when you're finished, just leave the tray outside in the hall. If you need anything else, just ask for assistant manager Santiago. I'm afraid most of my staff couldn't get in today. "Thank you." "Have a nice stay, Ma'am," said Santiago as he left. It turned out that the Archangel was as good as his word. Mike lifted up the cover and found three buttermilk pancakes and three links of sausage with tea and orange juice. Whatever lay ahead in his new female life, at least she would go ahead on a full stomach. After several tries, Mike was able to sit down in his nightdress and cross his legs. He made a valiant attempt to do so in a masculine manner but his hips weren't designed that way anymore and they fell into the stereotypical female fashion. Whatever else had changed, his appetite had not. The pancakes, sausage and OJ disappeared in short order and Mike was sipping his after-breakfast tea while it was still piping hot. Refreshed and sated, Mike took a more comprehensive stock of his body. He didn't have a tape measure so he could only guess at his new dimensions. He had lost height but not drastically so. He was just short of six feet, but he guessed about 5'10 or 5'11. Respectable for a woman. Mike would have preferred to not have breasts hidden behind his nightdress at all, but he grudgingly admitted if he had to have them then his were just the right size. About a C cup -- not too large to manage, but enough to draw attention. On second thought, bad idea. He didn't want any attention directed at him. Mike walked over to the mirror above the dresser and examined his face. The shoulder length brunette hair shone lusciously and bounced with every movement of his head. The features were much softer than they had been. He didn't recognise the exact face, but he could clearly tell that it was his own. An almost perfect recreation of his mother with just enough of his father thrown in to make Mike feel this is what his sister would have looked like if his mother had not had her tubes tied. Or more accurately, this is what Mike would have looked like if he had been born female. Damn that archangel to the competition... why did he have to make Mike so cute? --- "I've got a lead," said security chief Conklin as he entered John Lane's office in New York. "Where is she?" asked John concerned "Kearney, Nebraska." "Kearney, what was she thinking?" "Apparently, she borrowed a car from one of her girlfriends with the intention of going to Colorado." "...And slipping your detail in order to do it. Those people don't work for me anymore. Get it done." "That's going to be difficult, sir," said the security chief. "Your daughter has developed something of a sentimental attachment to them and they to her" "Which is probably how she was able to hoodwink them and slip away. No Jack, they're gone. Pay their severance packages and give them references. They have given good service for years, but as far as I'm concerned if this is their ?protection' all those years we've been lucky." "Yes sir," Jack Conklin replied, "You get her back now, Jack. She's all I care about. Safe and sound, without a hair touched on her head or I'll consider the twenty years you've given me to be lucky too. Are we clear?" asked John Lane coldly "Yes sir, I'm on my way personally. I won't let you down" "Then why are you still here?" "Yes sir," said Jack Conklin as he rushed out of his employer's office. --- Mike didn't know what to do with himself. One look outside had ended any notion he had of leaving the hotel room for town. After a very pleasant shower experience, Mike located his suitcase. It was remarkably the same suitcase he had taken from his dorm room, but instead of jeans sweatshirts and men's jockey shorts, there were woman's jeans, skirts, blouses, dresses panties and bras and items that his male mind couldn't and didn't want to identify this early in the morning. One item that surprised him, though perhaps he shouldn't be surprised by anything today, was a small-looking cloth backpack. Mike had seen some girls carry those around on campus. Being a reasonably intelligent fellow, he deduced that this served as his purse. Apparently the Archangel Michael was one for the details. Mike knew most girls carried their whole lives around in their purses and he was now no different. He dumped out all the contents of the main pouch and then all the side pockets until the cloth purse was an empty shell. Pieces of paper, old recipes from years ago, lipstick and other makeup, five different pens, one paper pad, one electronic PDA that never seemed to have been used. One key ring that probably rivalled those necessary for a nuclear missile silo. Sanitary napkins, which put Mike into shock as to what he could now expect every month until he found the tampons, which shocked him even further. A penlight, a multi-tool, a can of mace, three breakfast cereal bars and a billfold. Opening up the billfold, Mike found out his new identity. Michelle Lois Lane. Mike was ready to kill that trickster Archangel. It was bad enough to turn him into a woman, bad enough to name him after a pop culture character... but a character from super-?man' was just pouring salt in the wounds. Further examination of the billfold told Mike that he had all the same credit cards, club memberships and even the correct amount of cash as best he could remember it. Turning one of the flaps Mike was even surprised to see a family photo. He had never carried them around in his old wallet and didn't expect to find them in his new one, but there it was. His father looked the same, perhaps even a little more vigorous. His mother was smiling like she always did, and seated in front of them both was the girl Mike had been transformed into. The Archangel hadn't been kidding. He had left him in the same situation as before. Same mother and father, same school, same fat bank account but with one minor change. Knock! Knock! "Yes?" Mike asked when he opened the door to find Mr. Santiago. "I'm sorry Ma'am, but I've received a rather urgent call from the hotel's corporate office. Some heiress on the loose, and they think she may be in the area. They asked me to check the register to see if she was staying at the hotel ? and I have, but your name wasn't listed. The bill was paid by Mr. Angelo, you see." "Yes, I see. This heiress, her name wouldn't happen to be Michelle Lane would it?" "Why, yes. Is that your name?" "Yes," Mike replied smiling. "I see." The manager's manner suddenly became much colder. "I will inform the interested parties at once Miss Lane. Your security detail will be here in a few hours and I must politely ask you to remain here until they arrive. We wouldn't want any harm to befall you in the dangerous city of Kearny. If there's anything that I or the Holiday Inn Company may provide you in the meantime, we are at your service." "Have I done something wrong Mister Santiago? You don't seem as cheerful as before" "Miss Lane, I would rather not answer that question at this time. I value my livelihood. Rest assured, no one will bother you while I am here. Good day to you, Ma'am," finished Santiago as he stiffly exited the room. Mike was used to such treatment. It was meticulously courteous, but completely false politeness. People took one look at the name and the stock portfolio and they stiffened up. It appeared that the situation was no different as a woman, except now he could look forward to males stiffening up a particular body part in addition to their stiff manner. Oh joy. Old Captain Jack, formerly of the United States Marine Corps, was probably punching a hole in the sky trying to get to Nebraska in one of the company's Gulfstream jets. He had slipped away a few times before but nothing quite as dramatic as this. The last time had been to see "The Lord of the Rings" without a fellowship of his own. The hobbits had gotten to Lothlorien when the film was shut off, the lights turned on, and ten very humourless armed people filed in and found his seat. Mike quietly had got up and left, and never did get to see it in a theatre. No matter how much Mike had complained to his father about the lack of a theatre experience he wouldn't let him in so exposed a public place without a guard, and a greater entertainment black hole than the Praetorian Guard was hard to find. When he further complained that a DVD wasn't the same thing, John Lane's solution was to buy a significant interest in the AMC theatre company and ask them to have a theatre empty for his son's convenience. Mike had never used it. The earlier-mentioned Praetorian Guard arrived several hours later with an anxious Jack Conklin at the head. Mike had refused to answer any of their questions and simply packed up his new clothes, handing the suitcase to one of the guards specifically chosen for the task. Mike allowed himself to be led into a waiting car and the bleak winter wasteland was a perfect metaphor to his feelings. The Gulfstream made a short jump, returning Mike to Omaha and Creighton University. Apparently his female self had never had a sexual harassment complaint filed against her by a co-ed, nor cause to tell the University President what to go do with himself. The apartment designed for four but only occupied by him alone was as dreary as ever. The few female touches evident did little to change his mood for the better, but rather highlighted the humiliation he was now experiencing. And to make matters worse, Susan Lane was inside waiting for her daughter. Susie, as she allowed her friends to call her, was not the typical corporate trophy wife. Indeed, she had done almost everything wrong if one wants to court one of the richest men in the world. She had been a medical student at St. John's Medical Centre and was completely unimpressed with a 35-year-old man who didn't have the common sense to stay on his horse. Being of Irish decent, she was not hesitant in telling John Lane exactly what she thought of his middle- aged, neo-adolescent stupidity. He was in love. She wasn't. He sent her not a single bouquet of flowers, but instead had the annoying tendency of filling a hospital room to the brim with flower baskets while she was getting some much needed sleep between shifts. Susan O'Neil took those flowers and redistributed them around the hospital. Not to be discouraged, John Lane was single-handedly responsible for the New York flower boom of 1973. He tried everything. Romantic serenades by Frank Sinatra, he offered yachting expeditions to faraway tropical beaches, $10,000 a plate dinners with President Nixon -- which seemed to have the opposite effect he was hoping for. Diamonds, Gold jewellery, priceless works of art -- she wasn't having any of it, which only made him want her more. Finally, John's father Fredrick, concerned about the huge flow of capital from his company's coffers, decided to see what kind of girl could drive his normally phlegmatic son over the edge. When he met the girl in question, he made it known he wasn't impressed. Indeed, he informed Susan O'Neil that he completely agreed with her sentiments, as she obviously wasn't a suitable consort for his heir apparent. Big mistake. No one tells an Irishwoman whom she can date; Susan accepted the latest offer from John simply out of spite to his father. Her plan was to go on *one* date, just to stick it to the old man, only it hadn't gone according to plan. John Lane demonstrated a little more grace then he had when he was sent St. John's Medical Centre in the first place. Indeed, once given the chance, he had swept her off her feet. After a six-month long whirlwind romance, which was carefully catalogued by the National Inquirer, they wed. Fredrick Lane was more than happy to participate in the happy occasion. You see, while Susan may have been an Irishwoman, he was a Scotsman and he was getting slightly worried about his son's slackness in the grandchildren department. Fredrick was getting even more worried when six years into the marriage she still hadn't conceived. After a short conversation with his daughter-in-law, Fredrick determined that in order to produce a child the two people had to be in the same room in the first place, and John Lane had been neglecting his marriage duties. Instead, he was trying to build his company to world prominence in the wake of his father's retirement. Not helping matters much was the now Dr. Lane who was also too busy to see the proper part put in the proper hole more than once a month as she was involved in pioneering new methods of organ transplant. A Scotsman was never to be underestimated where procreation was concerned. While still having significant influence over the company's security department and the governing board of the St. John's Medical Centre; Fredrick made the suitable arrangements and had the happy couple kidnapped, dropped on an uninhabited island in the pacific with enough supplies for a year, and no way to contact civilization. A ship came for them six months later and a child was born to them four months after that, only in this reality, instead of a bouncing baby boy, Dr. Susan Lane had given birth to a sweet, sugar-and-spice and all things nice, Michelle Lois Lane. All things considered, Susie showed remarkable self-control in waiting even the ten seconds necessary for the security detail to leave the room before jumping down her new daughter's throat. "Where have you been, young lady?! Your father and I have been worried sick!" Susan asked harshly "I'm sorry, mother," Mike answered suitable scolded. "Sorry isn't going to cut it, Shelly, nor will any of your witty stories. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?" "I have a pretty good idea," answered Mike, thinking about the conversation he'd had with another Mike. "I don't think you do, because if you did, you wouldn't even *think* about running away from proper protection. Let me just highlight your father's and my nightmare scenario. We're sitting calmly in the winter house, sipping tea and reading the New Yorker, when Jack Conklin USMC walks into the room with a phone saying ?boss they got your daughter.' Your father takes the phone but I can't hear what he's being told. I can only look at his face and the fear the phone generates. The next thing I know, a box is carried in by the butler. It was just dropped off at the door. Inside is a piece of your clothing, your right index finger and a photo of you tied up with today's New York Times as ?proof of Life.' The message inside reads ?$10,000,000,000 or she dies! Two days'! Your father calls his people but they can't release the funds or sell of assets that quickly. He calls the banks but they can't loan him any money because suddenly he's a bad credit risk. He calls and is connected straight to the president, but is politely informed that it is not his government's policy to negotiate with terrorists, but he offers the services of the FBI. The kidnapers, because they have the government infiltrated, send us your left index finger the next day, and up the ransom to $20,000,000,000 because we ignored their orders and contacted the authorities. Your father is out of his mind with worry and the entire world economy is shaken to its base by the necessary arrangements to get the money in time. Tens of thousands of jobs are lost in the US because divisions of Lane Inc. had to be sold off at bargain basement prices to be striped by any corporate raider that can pay soon, and pay cash. Money to developing nations are halted, Syria doesn't get its World Bank loan and decided ?what the hell, might as well try it, better to die then live in poverty' so they invade Israel. Israel retaliates with nuclear weapons, and the powder keg that is the Middle East explodes with hundreds of millions dying. But it was all for nothing, because you had angered the kidnappers with your smart-ass mouth, and they decided a dead hostage was a lot simpler to manage than a live one." "...EVERY TIME YOU DISAPEAR FOR TEN SECONDS, THAT'S WHAT WE FEAR BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT CAN HAPPEN TO YOU!!" "I'm sorry, Mom" Mike cried and fell to the floor. It wasn't just the female hormones flowing through his body. He was well and truly ashamed of what he had put his mother and father through. No matter how much he didn't care for his life, he always knew his parents cared for him -- and this was how he showed them gratitude. "I'm sorry, Mommy," he said again, as he fell into his mother arms bawling like the little girl he now was. "I'm sorry!" Mike woke up the next morning in his own bed, which was clearly *her* own bed now. The fluffy and embroidered pinkness of it all was enough to turn a man's stomach, so it was probably a good thing that there wasn't one in the room. Mike rose, grabbed his towel and went off to the bathroom for a shower. Passing one of the apartment's guest rooms, he saw his mother sleeping soundly. The sight of her still shamed Mike even a day later. Entering the bathroom, Mike disrobed and once again marvelled at his new form. The subtle curves were turning him on. Even though he consciously understood that the girl in the mirror was himself, the deep dark hidden male mind saw only SCREWABLE: FEMALE - ONE and looked no further than that. The shower was quite the experience. Normally he took ten minutes to clinically scrub his body, wash his hair and brush his teeth in the morning. Showering as a female was a much more drawn-out affair. The fruit-scented bath products in the rack were mysterious to Mike but he supposed their purpose, if not their smell, was similar to what he had known as a male. Beyond the obvious of needing more time to wash more, and previously unknown areas, Mike was distracted by the sheer sensuousness of his body. The water massaging his nipples and new vagina sent waves of pleasure all through his body. Not being able to help it, and not fully aware of what he was doing, Mike began picking up where the water left off and massaging his breasts and inserting one of his fingers in his new primary sexual organs. Within moments, Mike had experienced his first female orgasm, followed shortly thereafter by his second, and his third. He likely would have begun developing calluses on some very personal places if his mother hadn't banged on the door, telling her daughter not to turn into a prune. After a few seconds to make sure the by-products were washed away, Mike exited the shower and padded himself dry. After his first experience with a hotel towel yesterday, he understood that his more sensitive skin would not tolerate scraping himself dry with a harsh towel, like he had done for years before. Dressed in a flower print bathrobe, Mike now had to face one of the most frightening places known to mankind -- the ladies dressing room. Mike had never had any steady girlfriends, certainly not any live-in ones. Nor had he had any sisters, and being who he was, with a career mother who had hundreds of servants, he hadn't spent any mornings getting ready with her either. Indeed, Mike had nothing to go on beyond what he had seen on television, or read in a few books, which wasn't going to help him much. "Well, this is going to be fun," Mike said to himself. "The least you could have done was give me an instruction manual." The new woman knew enough that wet hair shouldn't be allowed to dry on its own, unless the grunge look was the desired fashion. Plugging in the hair dryer, Mike went about attacking his shoulder length trusses. At least it was relatively straight. The brunette hair with hints of auburn yielded easily to the dryer and brush. After a near eternity of about 15 minutes, Mike was finished with his hair and he set his drier and brush down to search through his wardrobes. Mike, as a male, had had about three changes of about every style, from t-shirt and shorts to penguin suit. One of the apartment's bedrooms had been given over entirely to a dressing room, and Mike could see that as a female he had even more clothes -- a feat he would not have previously thought possible. "If I ever catch myself saying that I have nothing to wear, it's a sure sign of approaching mental illness." Not brave enough to try on anything complicated, Mike put on a simple white bra and panties. The bra snugly secured his breasts and simultaneously made Mike feel more comfortable and safe... and then embarrassed and nervous that his mother would burst in to see him in drag. The panties covered his new vulnerable anatomy, and while he was still pained at his loss, he still felt significantly better that there was at least something, however thin, between his womanhood and any knuckle-dragging pre-hominid XY out there who might wish to get into said womanhood. With the easy part done, Mike was now faced with one of the most critical decision of his new life: what to wear. Since just about every style and fashion was represented, he had no idea how his female self usually dressed. The only thing he had to go on was what was packed in the suitcase, and if that was any indication she was at home in jeans as she was in dresses. Well, Mike certainly wasn't at home in dresses, so he chose a pair of jeans from one of the drawers. He pulled them up to about his hips before meeting stiff resistance, and abandoning his attempt. Apparently this was one of those pairs of women's jeans that were painted on, rather than worn. Searching through the drawers, Mike eventually found a pair much looser than the first. They looked reasonably good on him and had the extra-added bonus of allowing him to breathe. Remembering that jeans matched with just about anything, Mike took the first suitable blouse he found, a lemon colored one, and put it on despite the buttons being on the wrong side. Mike hadn't been without a watch in his life if he could help it. Some things were apparently ingrained at a genetic level as he had a selection of over twenty to put on, all synchronised. But beyond the watch, Mike had no idea what jewellery to put on. Small earrings were attached to his lobes when he woke up yesterday. They were some type of glittering stone, and knowing his father had very little chance of being fake diamonds. Wearing diamonds with jeans somehow seemed a bit tacky to him, but since he didn't really have many other options in his jewellery chest *but* diamonds or precious stones, he decided to leave them in. No doubt his mother would say something about it if it turned out to be improper. The makeup table was a complete mystery to Mike and he could only hope that he could get by with nothing for the time being. He certainly felt he didn't need any enhancements to the beautiful face he now wore. His parents did good work if he did say so himself. Mike remembered that he couldn't go through a department store without being bombarded by chemical warfare in the guise of perfume. In that same area, professional makeovers and makeup tips were supplied to any willing woman. Hey, who was he kidding? He was a Lane heir. He could probably have Victoria Secret, Elizabeth Taylor and the president of every makeup company in the world wait on him to clothe, accessorize and make him over at the drop of a hat. Indeed that's probably what had happened in this alternate reality. "Shelly, are you almost done?" called Susan Lane through the door. "Coming, Mother," Mike said, as he gathered up his purse and walked into the living room. Mike walked into the kitchen and saw his mother making breakfast. It was something that he had seldom had the opportunity to see before. When he had moved to the apartment, his father had tried sending several family retainers out, but Mike had refused. He wanted to look after himself. Well, everything except the laundry and the dishes -- a man could only do so much. Apparently Michelle suffered from the same streak of independence. It was an artificial independence, Mike knew that beyond the obvious point that he hadn't paid for any of it, there was a five- man crash team in the apartment next door that could take over a small country if they had the need. "Eggs scrambled or sunny side up?" his mother asked cheerfully. "Well Susie homemaker, scrambled please with ham and cheese." "One more crack like that, and you'll be wearing your eggs." "Yes Dr. Lane, Ma'am," said Mike grinning. "After breakfast, I thought we could spend the day together. This city you exiled yourself to doesn't have a respectable store, but it has enough to occupy our time" "Shopping?" Mike asked uncertain "I know we had a bad time at Harrods with their silly policy on private armed guards, but after your father called, things were sorted out. I don't think the JC Penny would react the same way anyway." "Dr Susan O'Neil Lane shopping at J.C. Penny?" He asked trying to be shocked. "You should know better than anyone, I've shared my research findings to you countless times. When shopping it doesn't actually mater what you buy. Its simply the act of shopping, its extremely therapeutic. It will cheer you right up, I know it will." "Oh I don't doubt's it will cheer *you* up, but mother, has it occurred to you that I already have an entire room devoted to clothes? Where would I put more?" "What's wrong with you Michelle? Usually all I have to do is annunciate the first three letters or so of S-H-O-P-P-I- N-G, and you're up faster than a speeding bullet." "I'm just not feeling myself at the moment." "Well then, this will put you to sorts. Listen to doctor Mom, honey. I'm writing you a prescription of at least four new outfits and assorted accessories. Which reminds me, you haven't any makeup on." "Mom, I woke up this morning hating my looks. I was hoping you could help me with my makeup; make me a whole new woman." Susan Lane brightened up considerably at the thought of helping her daughter with her make up. "Well, if you insist." The Limo dropped them off at 11:AM and the 10-person security team spread out to provide a perimeter of protection for the two Lane ladies. Mike had no idea what he was doing and simply followed his mother wherever she led. Apparently shopping was a tradition that was second nature to her. The dressing room experience was not what he expected. On the drive over, he held fantasies that he could see other woman in various stages of undress. Then reality came to the forefront -- he was the Lane heir, and the security team emptied out the entire dressing room area with a suitable cash payment to the manager. If Mike were to be entertained by the feminine form, it would have to be his own, which wasn't entertaining at all. At first, Mike gave in to whatever his mother suggested, not really caring what she chose, which earned him several questioning looks from his mother. Eventually, she took an extremely hideous skirt off the rack and held it up to Mike for comparison. There was only so much a man could take, and Mike put his petite foot down. His mother seemed slightly put out by her daughters refusal, but on second thought was pleased she was getting into it finally. The refusal was more like the Michelle she was used to. After two and a half hours, they had a respectable collection of bags and boxes, again being carried by the chosen security guard. The reason one was specifically tasked for that was so that those guards that were armed and needed to draw their weapons in a hurry would not have to drop clothes bags first. More than one secret service detail attached to the first lady or daughter had been caught by that one before it became standard operating procedure. After clothes shopping round one was finished, Mike and his mother went to lunch at a local restaurant. Mike had wanted to order a cheeseburger and fries -- his customary lunchtime staple -- but his mother had given off such a laser-eyed stare and cold sulking frown that Mike changed the order to a chicken salad before the waiter left the table, much to his mother's pleasure. The two talked about family and friends some of whom Mike was not aware of. He resolved to find the always-ubiquitous girl's diary and try to piece together his new life. During the lunch Mike was left with the impression that his relationship with his mother had changed significantly from when he was a male. They had never been distant. They had always related to each other and understood one another, but now Mike felt his mother was much closer to her daughter than she was to her son. Understandable, really. Some things could not be talked about mother to son. Some of the conversations left Mike blushing. "It's how I know he doesn't have anything on the side, even if his secretary wasn't older than him. No man could be that vigorous with two women at once, despite Viagra. Though, I think it ironic that he was on the ground floor in purchasing Pfizer stock. "MoTHer! I did not need to know that. Ah! Scarred for life!" Mike said embarrassed as he covered his eyes at the thought of his parents having sex. "I was just trying to shock you out of your shell. You have barely said a word all day." His mother said concerned. "I'm still reeling from last night. I really am sorry mom and I don't know what I was doing." "Nor do I. Why you would just pick up and head west? I don't understand. It wasn't some boy, was it? No one tried to do anything to you while the detail was away?" "No Mom. No boy did anything to me." and never will, Mike thought. "It just became too much for me all of the sudden." "I suppose I can understand that Shelly. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and have to turn over and see your father just to reassure myself that it wasn't some fairytale dream and sometimes nightmare." "Cinderella, my life aint," said Mike laughing. "I've hardly had the poor life scrubbing floors or the wicked step-mother, and often I wonder about the happy ending." "Don't worry Michelle, Prince Charming will come around some day." "Later, rather than sooner mother, I'm not sure I can handle a boyfriend right now." "You'll have to deal with it, later, sooner or however you wish. You're the heir, and you'll have to have an heir of your own someday." Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!! "That's not really something I want to think about right now, either, Mom." "Well, just don't take too long young lady, your father's not getting any younger and if I know him, he may try a repeat of history." "If I know Dad there's not a man on this planet that is good enough for his daughter to be left alone on a deserted island with." "Probably true, but that doesn't mean he will stop looking, nor should you" "Yes mother." Going to the restaurant's ladies' toilet was hardly Mike's first time relieving himself with his new equipment, but it was the first time he had done it in public. One of the female guards got up and performed a visual inspection, insuring that no snatch and grab team was hiding under the stalls. After thirty seconds, Mike was given permission to enter. Even if the guard hadn't indicated which door to enter, Mike could not have subconsciously entered the male restroom and forgotten his new appearance because there was no way he could forget. Instead, he walked toward the skirted stick figure like he was walking to his own execution. When Mike did enter, he jumped from a rather large noise. Bang! "Sorry," said a blond haired woman as she hit a machine on the wall again. "It caught me by surprise and the damn machine wont give" Bang! Uncertain of what she was talking about, Mike asked her, "What caught you by surprise?" The blond woman gave Mike a funny look of surprise, but then stepped away from the machine with "Tampax" prominently displayed in pink letters. "Oh," started Mike embarrassed on a whole number of levels. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking like myself today, I think I have a tampon or two in reserve inside my purse if you would like one." "Would you? You'd be a lifesaver. I can pay you," said the blond woman reaching into her own purse for more money. "Don't worry," said Mike as he removed one of the tampons from his purse, treating it like it was both an item of pure evil and some great goal from a mystic quest. "My bank account can suffer the cost of one tampon." "Cindy Watson," the woman said extending her hand. "Michelle Lane," replied Mike, shaking the woman's hand in a woman's fashion, and then handing over the woman's sanitary device. "Ha," Cindy laughed. "No, I don't suppose one tampon will bankrupt you, did that little gremlin with a sour puss who walked in a few moments ago belong to you?" "Yes, I just met her, but she doesn't seem to have much of a personality." "Guarding someone like you, I can understand that." "So, you know who I am?" Mike asked curiously, seeking reassurance that it wasn't some grand conspiracy by his family and other people knew him as a woman too. "I'm a business administration student at Creighton. Lane Incorporated is a case study for us." "How do we rate?" Mike asked, suddenly curious for an outside opinion. "Pretty well all things considered, no toxic waste dumping or mass layoff in the name of efficiency. At least, not one that anyone's caught anyway." "I'm an economics major at Creighton." "Yes I know, a few people have pointed you out to me, I just didn't make the connection. Now, I'm sorry to be impolite but I think I'm leaking." "Of course, sorry to delay you." "See you around." "You too." The rest of the day passed normally, or as normally as it could while spending it in skirts and the opposite gender you were born into. The jeans had lasted to lunch, but the slightly larger nails Mike now had caused him to drop his coffee all over his jeans. Beyond the immediate burning sensation in areas of his body he didn't want to burn, Mike now needed something to wear. So it was probably handy that they had just finished clothes shopping, and probably fate that Mike in his apathetic agreement to whatever his mother chose, had agreed to three skirts and one dress. Faced with no alternative, Mike was now dressed in such a sugary female fashion that he was starting to worry if it was possible to expire from acute embarrassment and sappiness poisoning. "Oh, isn't that Christmas display so *cute*? The Santa is just so jolly," said Dr. Susan Lane, F.A.C.S. Apparently not. "Where is Christmas this year, Mom? Fiji? The Cayman Islands?" Mike asked suddenly curious. Christmas for the Lane trio was always an adventure. "Omaha," replied Mike's mother, smiling "What?" Mike asked, puzzled. "Your father and I never really agreed with your decision to exile yourself out here in the sticks. Even if it does give you a better chance to escape from the pressures of New York society, there's not much to recommend this place, but its sense of peace and quiet, which your father and I suddenly approve of. What with my new panels and his problems with the Internet bubble we have decided kith and kin is a much better alternative than some Polynesian paradise. Besides, it's been ages since I've had a white Christmas. I'll be staying here to set things up and your father will be arriving on the 22nd" "What about your practice? Mike asked, concerned. "You and I both know what that really is -- your father letting me play with toys. Sure, I know I'm one of the best in the world. My colleagues do as well. My grateful patients certainly appreciate my attentions, but I don't really have a practice anymore. I get called into interesting cases every once in a while, but since mister Debney, I haven't had anything permanent," Susan Lane said with a hint of bitterness. Apparently Mike's switching genders had not changed anything about his mother's life. For almost two decades, Dr. Lane had been one of the foremost surgeons in the nation. She became so well known in her doctor persona, that people that met Doctor Lane at a hospital charity event would meet Mrs. Lane at some other benefit, and not realise that they were one and the same. Then came Barry Debney. It had never been proven, at least not conclusively, but Mike's mother had always insisted the liver transplant had gone according to the book. Susan believed Mr. Debney had drunk himself into rejecting the new organ. Regardless, when he expired three months after an operation that should have extended his life by 15 years and leaving behind six children it was a malpractice lawyer's wet dream. *They* knew Dr. Lane and Mrs Lane were one and the same. The original claim of one billion dollars was the largest civil action in the history of the world against a single person, but it wasn't the sort of place in the history books someone sought. Normally, a bereaved widow of a construction worker with no life insurance and six children to feed could not have had a legal staff that rivalled some of the small fortune five hundred companies. The legal team had agreed to work free of charge, paid only if a settlement or judgement was reached. In actuality, Jack Conklin eventually found out that they were doing nothing of the sort. They were being paid by secret retainer by a consortium of Lane Incorporated business rivals. The whole thing was an opportunistic attack upon John Lane, with his wife and innocent family caught in the middle. Even if no billion-dollar judgement was ever reached, the mere threat of one was enough to send much of the companies dealings into hysterics. The sharks had smelled blood and they had used every dirty trick in the book, and several that were too foul to be put down in words. During a long drawn out legal battle lasting seven months, Dr. Lane had attended every day of trial, sitting calmly and dignified, daring the lawyers and the jury to find fault with her. The lawyers couldn't bear up under the strain, but continued on anyway refusing to make eye contact. Toward the end, the ?bereaved widow' had stopped coming to the trial. Conklin eventually found out this was because the small stipend she was given for her participation by the lawyers wasn't enough to feed all six of her children at the same time. Mrs. Debney was working one, then two full time jobs to make ends meet while her ?lawyers' were treating themselves to hundred-dollar lunches and Cuban cigars. When she found o